


Golden Eyes and Silver Tongue

by shouldbeover



Series: Loki [3]
Category: Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Norse Religion & Lore
Genre: F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1653272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shouldbeover/pseuds/shouldbeover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki and Sigyn--from first meeting to...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I. II.

**Author's Note:**

> Bits of Norse, bits of Marvel, bits I'm making up as I go along.

The candle flames danced as if in a breeze, although the room was still. Sigyn paused, letting the hand that held her hairbrush fall to her lap. There needn’t have been any warning. He could have slipped in like a spirit without disturbing the air, appearing behind her as solid or insubstantial as he liked. It was an act of respect, alerting her of his presence. 

“My Lord.”

“My Lady,” the voice was dulcet. The slender figure that stepped out of the shadows was dark-haired and pale, a tall woman in a long green gown gathered at the waist with a gold cord. “Shall I brush your hair?”

She smiled in answer and shut her eyes. Loki ran the brush in long strokes from the crown to the ends making her hair crackle with electricity. 

“You were missed at dinner,” she said. “Both your mother and Thor asked after you.”

He/she smiled. “Of my mother’s good will, I have no doubt. But it was Thor I was avoiding.”

Sigyn sighed, “And what have you done that you should need to avoid him?” She let her head fall back against his breasts, as he continued to brush her hair.

“I may have, in the guise of Sif’s serving maid, sworn that Sif is dying of love for him. It is possible that I also told Sif of Thor’s deep passion for her.”

“You may have?” she smirked.

“I may have.” Loki grinned back at her in the mirror.

She sighed again, “Oh, Loki, my love. Why do you do such foolish things?”

“Mmm, because it amuses me. In fact, they should be grateful to me!” He draped her hair over one shoulder and undid the clasps on her necklace. 

“Grateful?” Sigyn raised an eyebrow at their reflections.

“They do have feelings for one another and yet the two great dunderheads would rather go to their graves than be the one that admits it first. 

It was true. There was no denying that Thor and Sif had been meant for one another since first they had noticed a difference between sexes, since they had all been children. 

***  
I.  
Alone in the corridor, she hears them before she sees them, the chorus of shouts and whoops, the crack of wooden swords against wooden shields. 

Small and frightened, she presses herself as tightly against the wall as she can. But the blonde boy leading the pack thuds into her anyway as he careens down the hall, knocking her to the floor. The children’s army stomps past her, toy weapons waving, a mixture of girls and boys. No one seems to notice her, and she doesn’t want to be noticed, drawing herself into a tight ball around her doll.

“Are you alright?” asks a boy.

“Yes,” she mumbles, afraid to look up. 

“Oh, your doll’s broken!” exclaims the boy who stopped. 

She looks down at the doll in her hands. The face is cracked, nearly caved in. She fights back tears. Asgardian maidens do not cry. They do not cry over broken dolls. 

The boy kneels down, and she is forced to look up at him. He has black hair brushed back from a high forehead, pale skin, and the greenest eyes she’s ever seen. “May I?” he asks, reaching for the doll. She yields it to him. “My brother’s an oaf,” he mutters as he runs his fingers along the doll’s face. So the blonde leader is his brother. He shuts his eyes and a green haze spreads around her doll from his fingers.

“There,” he says, opening his eyes. “I’m sorry it’s not very good. My mother could make it so you’d never know it had been broken, but I’m afraid this is the best I can do.” He hands the doll back to her, and she sees that the face is whole, but the seam of the crack is still visible like a scar. 

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“LOKI” a voice booms down the hall, “YOUR ARMIES ARE FALLING.”

Loki! A prince of the realm, and the blonde boy must be Thor, the future king. She stumbles to her feet, and bobs an awkward curtsey as her mother taught her.

Loki rolls his eyes, but starts down the hall to follow the other children. Suddenly he turns and asks, “What is your name, little golden eyed girl? So I shall know how to ask after you in future.”

“Si-sigyn, your majesty.”

His grin is wicked and teasing, “Farewell, Si-sigyn of the golden eyes.” He bows with a flourish and disappears around the corner.

***

“Shall I prepare you for bed?” her husband asked, his voice shimmering between male and female, husky yet melodic.

He lifted the heavy gold collar from her neck and placed it on its stand as they watched one another in the mirror. “Your eyes are still green,” she said. 

He leaned in to slip her earring free, and breathed, just breathed against her neck making her shiver. “I wanted you to know who I am.”

“I always know who you are.”

***  
II.  
All Asgardians serve at table at some point. She is a lowly daughter of a lowly branch, and she is no exception. She has grown tall with youth, but the tray laden with fruit is heavy and awkward to carry, and she pauses to rest it on a table and readjust her grip

There is a faint noise. She looks around, but it can only be coming from the door. The outer doors of the castle are locked at this time of the evening, and no one is to be let in by any but a guard. The doors are also a foot thick, so whoever is rapping is doing so with some force. Against her better judgment she peers through the window. 

A soldier stands at attention, gold helmet shadowing his face. But for just an instant he looks up and she looks into green eyes.

She hasn’t spoken to Prince Loki since he mended her doll. But she has seen him, watched him as he and Thor have sparred in the courtyard. Thor always wins and is always a braggart about it, but sometimes Loki can score points with his magic, throwing false images and letting Thor trip himself up with his own strength. 

She is not a warrior. She can defend herself with sword and dagger as any Asgardian woman can, but it is not her skill and so she does not train with Sif and the other warriors, so their paths do not cross. But she listens to the stories that spread around him. His recklessness, his mischief making, his charm.

“My Lady,” the Loki/guard says, “Please open the door. I was delayed by rabble in the city, and I am weary.” Guards have keys to the doors.

“What of your key?” she calls.

“It was taken from me.”

“Then you should sound the alarm.”

“I will, as soon as you open the door.”

She’s curious as to why he was out so she lets him in, but asks as she does, “What takes Prince Loki out of the castle after curfew?”

He stops, stunned. There is a shimmer and he stands in front of her in his own form. His face and clothes are smudged with soot, his tunic torn. There is blood dripping from the fingers of his left hand which he cradles with his right. 

“How did you know?”

“Your green eyes. And no guard would be so foolish.” 

He grins. “I have been visiting other realms.”

She scoffs. “Heimdallr would let no one leave Asgard without permission, not even a prince.”

He leans close, “There are paths between realms that even Heimdallr doesn’t know about. I have walked the ice of Jotunheimr and spoken with the Vanir. I have even,” he grins, “been to Midgard.”

She pulls herself up to her full height, which is still considerably shorter than his, “I don’t believe you. It is part of the tales you tell with your silver tongue.”

“And what would a maiden know of silver tongues, my lady?”

She doesn’t deign to answer. He doesn’t remember me, she thinks, and then pushes the thought aside. Why should he remember her? A child he met once.

After a heartbeat he turns away. “Are they at dinner?”

“Yes, I am serving, and you have delayed me long enough.” She tries to be haughty, but suspects she is failing.

As if in confirmation, he laughs and takes an apple from her platter. “No time to change then.” He shrugs, and in a shimmer of gold, the Crown Prince Loki appears. His hair is combed, his face clean. He wears a green brocade tunic, with a gold collar and wristlets. 

“How do I look?”

Exquisite, majestic, beautiful, she thinks. “You’ll do,” is what she says.

He twirls to see his reflection in the polished gold walls. “Enough to fool my father and Thor and anyone else looking. My mother will see through it. She can always see through my spells. No matter. She will be too worried about me to punish me.

“Thank you for opening the door. I am in your debt, and I always repay my debts.”

He starts down the hall and she is left to heft her tray again, berating herself for her foolish hope that he would have thought of her as often as she thought of him. 

But at the turning he calls back, “Do not forget to claim your reward of me, Lady Sigyn of the golden eyes.”


	2. Chapter 2

She reached over her shoulder to catch his hand. The jewel in her wedding ring flashed and was reflected in the mirror. He kissed her palm. “Do you still love my gift?”

Laughing, she said “I treasure all your gifts, my love.” The stone came from the very highest of Jötunheimr’s peaks. It was too cold to touch with the bare hand, and so Loki had the dwarves of Ivaldi place it in a magical setting. But precious as it was, it was not the most beloved of the gifts Loki had given her. 

III.  
The libraries in the palace of Asgard are many. Some so vast and full that one can get lost without a guide: the somber, silent librarians in faded robes. 

But Sigyn’s favorite of the libraries is a little one in a remote tower. Not only do few besides herself ever come there, but it is full of books on Midgard, and the times when the Asgardians visited them. Midgard is forbidden. Loki’s words, that he had been, piqued her interest and soon became an obsession. 

The book she is reading slams shut, and she jumps back and screams. She was alone but now Loki stands before her. 

“Why are you reading about the Midgard? They are a primitive and foolish people.”

“They worship Odin as a God.”

He sneers. “Which only proves their foolishness. Anyway, that was long ago in their years. They worship other Gods now, and in time they will turn away from those as well. They are fickle as children.”

“Then why do you go? If you have actually been.” 

“I have been! I told you. Do you think I lie?” His voice is petulant and childish.

She cocks her head to demonstrate her disbelief. “You are the lord of lies and deceptions, Prince Loki. Everyone in Asgard knows that. Prove it.”

“How should I prove it?”

She considers, “Take me with you when next you go. I would study them. Write a new book.”

His mouth snaps shut and with a rush of air, he is gone.

Her heart breaks. When she sees him again in passing he is polite but distant. She doesn’t know why her words should make him withdraw from her so completely. She meant only to banter. 

Life goes on and she continues to study in the small library. The stories about him grow. And the gossip of his prowess in the bedroom reaches her ears, each one a small pulsing stab to her heart. Why them and not her? His lovers are not girls of her own age. Her friends are swooning and vying for the attentions of Thor and Fandral. Thor and Sif are lovers until they fight and then all are fair game. Fandral flirts with her but soon stops when she does not respond. But Loki takes lovers of his mother’s age. Petty feuds begin between old families, jealous women and their livid husbands. When things grow too heated, he disappears, sometimes for months at a time. When he returns she sees him walking in the garden speaking animatedly with his mother, but he does not speak to her.

One day, so long after that she has given up on his speaking to her or noticing her ever again, she reaches what she has come to consider her library to find him lounging in a chair, long legs slung over the side. She tsks. He is eating a pear and the juice is dripping onto the pages of the book in his lap.

“Your proof is on the table,” he says without looking up.

“My proof?” Her heart beats too hard in her chest. 

“A gift from Midgard.” He gestures with the pear.

The gift is a white cup. It looks like china, but when she picks it up it is light as a feather and gives slightly beneath her fingers.

He flicks his hand and the cup fills with a dark, steaming liquid. The smell is acrid and smoky. 

“What is it?”

“The Midgard call it ‘coffee in a Styrofoam cup.’”

She must admit that she is intrigued. Nothing like it exists in Asgard. She turns it around, sniffs it, trying to separate the material of the cup from its contents. 

“Is it…is it a petrochemical?” 

He looks at her and smiles his crooked smile. “Very good.”

“Isn’t that poisonous?”

“Further proof of their stupidity. Their air is unbreathable, their water undrinkable.”

“And the…coffee?”

“A bean they roast and drink for its properties as a stimulant. The taste is dreadful.”

She sets it back down on the table carefully. 

“Why have you brought it to me?”

“To prove that I do not lie. Not to you.”

There is a long pause and she doesn’t look at him, afraid that her feelings will show on her face. “Why…why did you ignore me for so long?”

He sighs, and the sound has a sadness to it. “My…travels…the pathways between worlds…have always been mine alone. Many would like to know of them. Thor and Father would like to know. There is little in Asgard that is completely mine. I thought…I foolishly thought that they might have put you up to it, to find out where they are. I am…sorry to have doubted you.”

He has finished the pear and tosses the core out the window. He waves his hand and the book closes and moves back to the shelf, and he rises from his chair to walk towards her. “Lady Sigyn? I have always…”

A scholar comes around the corner and Loki disappears in an inward rush of air. With trembling fingers and shaking hands she carries the cup to her room. The coffee, which she tastes and finds unpalatable, she pours into a glass vial and seals with wax. The cup, stained with dark brown rings, she puts into a dwarf made box and sets it on a shelf in her room where she can always see it. 

For all she knows he gives similar gifts and finer to the women, and some men, that he beds, but if so she has not heard of it, and she repeats his last words to herself as a mantra wondering what he was going to say.

A few days later she sits in the Queen’s garden. It is open to all, although fear of encountering the Queen herself keeps many away. Not that the Queen is terrifying. Far from it. She is known to be kind and merciful where the All-Father can be cruel and unforgiving. She is thoughtful where the All-Father—and her sons—are known to be impulsive. Much of the enduring peace is attributed to her influence with her husband.

Sigyn has been coming to the garden since she was a child and has spoken to the Queen, although only lightly, discussing the flowers, the seasons, and occasionally her studies. The day is warm with a gentle breeze that suits her mood. She reads, but her thoughts are still on Loki’s last words, and that he sought to bring her a gift from another world. As so often happens when she thinks of his green eyes and quick smile, she flushes with a sharp heat that travels from her face to between her legs.

As if conjured by her mind, she sees him coming down the path. He stops, tilts his head to one side, and regards her. “Lady Sigyn, will you walk with me?”

“Of course, my Lord.” She swallows deeply, tucks the book away and takes his offered hand.

They stroll in silence, not uncomfortable, but weighted with a sense of expectation, and come to a rest in the shade of an old, ivy-covered wall. Away from the sun, the greenery is sparse and Sigyn lets herself lean against it.

“Sigyn, Lady Sigyn, I…” he begins. He seems at a loss for words. Loki, the silver-tongued, Loki the ever talking, ever witty, is brought to a stammering halt.

He gathers himself together and, as if gathering for a battle charge begins speaking rapidly. “Lady Sigyn, I don’t know if you remember when we first met—”

“Of course, my Lord. I was a frightened child and you repaired my doll. I have never forgotten. I have kept the doll with her scarred face as a…memento.”

“Oh.” He’s surprised. “I too have remembered our meeting. I remember your golden eyes looking at me with utter trust.” He gazes into them now.

She lowers her eyes to break the intensity of his stare, “My Lord is unkind to mock my golden eyes.” Her eyes are light brown, not hazel. They hold no green or grey at all. When she was small, but older than she was when she met him, the common children would mock her saying that her eyes were unnatural, sign that she was a changeling from some far off realm.

“My Lady, I do not mock. I do not betray such trust as I saw there. If you have been teased, then they are fools for not seeing your worth. I too have been teased for my green eyes, for my pale skin, for my…for many things. Never in my life had anyone looked at me with the trust I saw in your eyes. When I thought…when you did not believe me, I worried that you too, no longer believed my words. And that was…unbearable to me.

The words pour out at a pace, “My Lady Sigyn, although I can count the number of our conversations on one hand, ‘though we have exchanged such a paltry sum of words as to make us nearer strangers than friends, I have always felt drawn to you. You are beautiful, but there are other beauties. You are intelligent—I have watched you at study—but there are other minds. And yet, none holds my interest as you do, as you always have.”

Does she trust him? Does she dare? For this is so like tales she has spun in her head that she fears he has read her mind. He is so close to her now. (When did he move closer?) She can feel the lightest of mist from his mouth. Her mind battles her emotions (and the betrayal of her body that burns at his nearness). He is Loki, Lord of Lies and Mischief, spinner of tales. To say that she has the power to make him tell the truth could be a perfect lie. But she wants to believe, wants to believe that it is not a ruse to get beneath her skirts as he has so many others, for who does not wish to believe themselves special? The one that can turn true love’s heart? The turmoil, so many years in the making, causes her to burst into tears, and bury her face in her hands.

“Oh, my Lord. Are you so cruel? Has someone told you of my feelings, things I thought I had confided in no one? That there is no other for me than you. You need not give me false flattery; I am yours. If you asked me I would be your mistress for as long,” her voice breaks, “or as short a time as you wanted.” 

“Oh, Sigyn, my Sigyn. I do not want you to be my mistress. I want you to be my wife.” 

His hand is on her waist now, so close she can smell the warm leather of his coat, the scent of some spiced oil he uses to tame his hair. His hand moves down to her hip. “I would have you in my bed, forswearing all others. I would be yours alone, and you mine. Do you believe me?”

“Yes, my Lord,” she whispers. 

“No, say my name. I am not your lord, I am your slave. Say my name.” He breathes against her neck. His hand gathers her skirt, bunching it in his fist, pulling it up, up to her knees, up to her thigh. 

“Loki, Loki.” She gasps as his fingers brush her inner thighs.

“Your Loki.”

“My Loki.” 

His fingers are at her sex now, and she can barely breathe. She shuts her eyes as he slides two fingers inside her, his thumb teases at the heart of her sex.

“Oh, Loki,” she sobs now. It’s better than she ever dreamed. The heat, the pleasure is reaching an unbearable level. She’s going to slip over.

“Your Loki,” he whispers again.

“My Loki. Yes,” she wails, her climax takes her. If he were not holding her up, pressed against the wall, she would crumple to the ground.

“Sigyn, oh, Sigyn,” he murmurs. He’s fumbling at his trousers with his free hand, and she’s ready for him. So ready.

Sounds are heard from further down the path. “No, no, no!” Loki groans. She can just make out the voices of Loki’s parents, the Queen and the All-Father. “Tonight, may I come to your room tonight?” he asks urgently.

“Yes, oh, yes,” she whispers.

And just like that he is gone, leaving her to slide down the wall, hidden from view, to catch her breath.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki keeps his promise and comes to Sigyn's room to continue what was begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hazards of launching into a multi-chapter story that was supposed to be a PWP one shot--I cannot maintain the flashback conceit.  
> So, from now on, just straightforward story. I may be able to circle around and finish the original night, but there is a lot of Sign and Loki stories to tell besides that one. 
> 
> Thanks be to imsuggestingcoconutsmigrate for beta--all mistakes and not taking her valuable advice are mine.

That evening Loki wasn’t at dinner—not an unusual occurrence—but she had expected to see him after everything that had happened. The Queen glanced at his empty chair but didn’t seem to be concerned. Sigyn ate quickly and retired to her room.

Ever since his touch, her skin had felt electrified. The merest brush of her clothes brought heat to the surface and made her shiver. The water of her bath played against her nerve endings, and she couldn’t help but slide her fingers down to where he had touched her. Knowing that she would be seeing him soon was not enough and she brought herself to a short, sharp climax. But upon leaving the bath she was at a loss. How soon would he arrive? Should she be reading with an air of nonchalance, or would he expect her to be naked and waiting in bed. She braided her wet hair as was her custom, and then undid it again. She could not settle. The hour grew later, and then later still. She began to fear that he wouldn’t come at all. That he had left again, and his absence at dinner had been a sign that he had left Asgard. She sat in her shift, then changed into her prettiest nightgown, and then back to her shift again, with her dressing gown hanging open around her. At one point she caught herself dozing. Finally, when she had all but given up hope and resolved to go to bed, there was a soft knock at the door. “Enter,” she called out in a voice she hoped was calm. 

Loki didn’t bother to open the door, simply materializing in the middle of her room. In a second she had crossed to him, and jumped into his arms. He caught her easily, and lifted her so that she could wrap her legs around his hips, her shift riding up so that his hands were against her bare thighs. 

“Loki, oh Loki, I thought you wouldn’t come!”

His hands cupped her buttocks and for the first time, he kissed her. She thought she might faint, even more so when he began to kiss her neck, his fingers seeking her sex again. “Oh, so slick, my little maiden,” he chuckled.

“Yes, Loki, for you, just for you. “ She tried to slip his hands between them to remove some of his clothes. “Why do your clothes have to have so many buckles?” she whined in frustration.

Suddenly he pushed her back, forcing her to lower her legs to the floor. She stomped her foot in annoyance and tried to crowd against him again. 

“Wait,” he said as she threw herself at him. He gripped her arms, “Wait, wait, Sigyn. Wait!”

“No, please, no I’ve waited so long, and I’ve wanted you so much.”

“Sigyn,” he said, eyes dark and serious, “Sigyn, am I your first?”

“Of course, Loki, I told you it’s only ever been you, but please, it doesn’t matter. I’ll be good, I’ll be so good for you. Please don’t go.” She felt near tears again. It was becoming a pattern.

He pulled her close, and kissed her forehead, smoothing back her hair. “Shh, shh, Sigyn, I’m not going to leave. Ragnarök itself could not tear me away. But I will not hurt you…not until you’ve learned to enjoy it. Shh, shh…I will not hurt you, dearest one. No one’s first should ever be painful.”

She buried her face against his chest, smelling the warm leather, and a hint of sweat. “I’m not a child, Loki. I do know what happens and I’m ready.”

“Are you?” he smirked, the bastard. He pulled her hand between his legs where she could feel his hardness, his length. His cock was long and very thick. It made her mouth dry, it made her sex throb, and it did make her frightened, but only a little. 

He kissed her tenderly. “You see? I promise you, Sigyn, I will bring you to ecstasy, and I will touch eternity deep within you before morning, but you MUST SLOW DOWN. I will not hurt you. Although,” he cupped her left breast through her shift, rubbing the hard nipple, “it will try all of my strength to go slowly.” He chuckled deeply and she could feel the vibrations through her whole body. It made her whimper.

Again he lifted her, this time sweeping her feet from beneath her, carried her to the bed, and with a pass of his hand that made her skin tingle, made her shift disappear. “All of my strength,” he whispered again. “Oh, my Sigyn. I am not worthy of your perfect purity.” He leaned over her and kissed her tenderly, softly, only letting the tip of his tongue brush against her lips, before he moved down, pressing kisses along her throat and down to her breasts. He held her wrists down to the bed, not roughly, but firmly, so she could not urge him to go faster, to just take her, possible pain be damned. She noted dimly that he had shed most of his armor and was down to his tunic and soft trousers. But then he moved lower and hooked her knees over his shoulders, and she lost all thought.

His tongue moved along her sex in a broad stroke then slid inside her where his fingers had been that afternoon. He alternated between piercing her with his tongue, and sucking on her swollen nub of flesh. It was maddening; it was perfect, she wanted more. She ground against his mouth shamelessly, which made him laugh, breath hot against her moist flesh. When he replaced his tongue with his fingers, she screamed and arched her back. “Looookkkiiii!”

He moved over her then, his clothing gone. She’d seen his bare chest before—when he was training in the central courtyard with Thor. His sinewy torso was no match for Thor’s brawn, but here, in the soft lights of her room, his pale skin gleamed. He released her wrists and she let her hands roam against the firm planes of his chest, the hard muscles of his arms. He let her explore, watching her with a tender look that seemed almost surprised. Her hands slid lower down to his narrow hips and then to his firm buttocks, making him gasp in pleasure. 

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered. And then she let her hands move around to between his legs to touch his cock. “Oh,” she exclaimed, then, “oh,” again. It was even longer and thicker than it had felt in his trousers. “I want it, Loki, please, I want you.”

“Have you never heard,” he whispered, breathing softly against her neck, lowering his weight, shifting between her legs, “to be careful,” she felt the head of his cock against her, “what you wish for, my lady.”

He slid partway in, and already it was too much, not enough. He kissed her then, and she could taste herself on his mouth, her heated smell. He took her with agonizing slowness, sliding forward then pulling back, and when he was there, lodged fully inside her, he stilled completely, still kissing, his tongue working over her lips, pulling gently at hers. She felt stretched and full, and complete, as if a missing piece had been found. 

“Oh, Sigyn,” he murmured.

“Loki,” she replied. She wrapped her legs around his waist tightly, urging him to move, to complete what he had begun, and touch the infinite with her, inside her, hers to give, and his to take, and give and take in that perfect dance of joining.

He cupped her breast, and whispered again, “Oh, my Sigyn, you are like nothing I have ever known.” Only then did he begin to move, thick and heavy within her. She was rising again, as he sucked at her nipples, caressed her ribs, cupped her head in his hand to pull her in for another kiss. She clutched at him, desperate that they should go together. Later she was shocked to discover that she had drawn blood with her nails down his back, but in the moment there was only the need to be closer still. His thrusts became harder and faster, crescendoing to a teetering point and then they were both crying out, as he filled her fully. After, they lay panting, he carefully holding his weight above her, until he had to move free. 

Her body felt simultaneously heavy with release, and light as air. He pulled the sheets over them, and with a wave dimmed her lights until they could see one another only by the moonlight through the window. A shimmer, and there were cups and a flagon of sweet, warm mead, to refresh them. 

He cupped her sex with his hand, “Was that what you wished for, my dearest one?” The gesture sent another spark of warmth that could have been sexual, but was instead comforting and soothing, lulling her to sleep.

“You, this, you, is all I’ve ever wished for.”

“This, and a thousand, thousand more nights like it, is what you shall have. Sleep now, you will need your strength.”

“Will I?”

She could just see the curve of his smile in the dim light, “I said you should be careful what you wish for. Morning is many hours away, and I have much to teach you.”

“Mmm?” She snuggled beneath his arm. “And who taught you?”

“Ah, well, that would be telling. Trust now that all of my lessons were for this end. To please you. I love you, Sigyn. Sleep well, my queen.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Frigga gives her blessing.

Twice more in the night Loki made her cry out in pleasure. One time lifting her to straddle his hips, laughing in delight as she took her pleasure before rolling her over to take his own. 

When the dawn was just lighting the tops of Asgard’s towers, he rose and dressed, without magic this time. “I’m sorry, my love, I must go or I will be missed by the servants. And I would not besmirch your honor.” He smirked and kissed her hand. “By the end of the day we will be betrothed and none will dare call me from your bed before time.”

“So quickly?”

He tilted his head to the side, “Do you wish to delay?”

“No, no! I just…I thought you might.”

He kissed her hand again. “Not one minute. I meant what I said; I want you to be my wife.”

As he bent to put on his boots, she cried, “Oh, I’ve scratched you!”

He peered over his shoulder. “So you have!” He leant in to kiss her lightly before pulling on his tunic. “I knew you would be a demon once unleashed.”

She laughed, “If I am a demon, it is you who has called me forth.”

She woke again later, when the sun was full in the sky, and her servant was puttering about. She stretched, feeling newly worked muscles ache, and sighed happily.

Naer, a motherly woman who had been with Sigyn since childhood, paused and looked at her shrewdly for a moment, at her tousled, unbraided hair, the rumpled bed. “You have taken a lover!” she exclaimed. “Well, it is about time. I would not wish you to be alone. Is he or she a noble as you? Or some commoner from the city? Not that I judge, I only wish you to be happy.”

“Naer!” she exclaimed, mildly shocked. “I am not so old for you to be despairing.”

Naer came to sit on the edge of the bed, and took her hand, “You were always such a quiet child, and so alone. With your father dying and your mother returning to her people in Vanaheimr, I worried that there was no one to speak for you.

“Now tell me all. Has this been long in the making, or a quick passion?”

“B…both, I think, I mean…oh, Naer. I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you yet. By the end of the day, he promises that by the end of the day we will be betrothed and all will know, but I cannot…if you knew who he was…” she put her face in her hands.

“But you cannot tell me. He is noble then? And marriage, so soon. I would warn of marrying your first love, but you would not listen. And sometimes first love is the truest. I will wait to hear.

“Now, if you are to be betrothed, we must pick out a very fine dress for you to wear, and perhaps we should rewash and style your hair.” 

Sigyn rose and went to her wardrobe, leaving Naer to change the sheets. 

“My,” said Naer, “he is…enthusiastic, at any rate.”

Sigyn blushed red to the roots of her hair.

***  
As the day drew on, she wondered about Loki’s words. They could not be betrothed without the blessing of the All-Father. Would Odin permit Loki to marry before Thor? At last she was sent for, not by Loki or Odin, but by Frigga, the Queen.

Sigyn smoothed her dress, and knocked on the door of the Queen’s sitting room. 

“Enter.”

Queen Firgga was just putting away her embroidery. She rose gracefully, her moss green gown, rustling as she moved, and crossed to Sigyn. “Let us walk in the garden.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

They walked down the same path that Sigyn had walked the day before, when everything had been different. 

After several minutes of pleasant silence, the Queen turned to her and said, “I suppose you know why I’ve called for you?”

“I believe so, your Majesty,” Sigyn replied.

“Please, my dear, call me Frigga.”

Sigyn could not imagine calling the queen Frigga, so kept silent.

“My son Loki tells me that he wishes to marry you. Do you wish to marry him?”

“Oh yes, your Majesty. Very much.”

Frigga smiled, ignoring the honorific. “Good, that is good. Both of my sons have, on occasion, believed that the fact they want something is enough to make it true. Perhaps we have overindulged them. I worried that he had perhaps convinced himself of your willingness, and I would not see you toyed with.

“I must admit that I was surprised when he told me, but pleased. But I worried too. Do not misunderstand me, I believe that you are an excellent choice and will make him the best of wives, far better than possibly he knows,” she paused, “but I fear that marriage to Loki will not be easy. He has…a wanderlust, a longing for things beyond what they are, a restlessness of spirit, and a dissatisfaction with life as it is, perhaps with himself most of all. Are you prepared to love him though all of that?”

“Yes. I believe so. I know…” Sigyn swallowed, “…I know that he will still disappear for long periods of time, as he does now. I hope that he will allow me to travel with him, but I am prepared to wait for him here in Asgard. And I…,” she swallowed again, “…I do not expect fidelity.”

Frigga’s serene smile turned rueful, and she turned away to pluck dead blossoms from a nearby flowerbed. 

Sigyn regretted her words. Everyone knew that Odin had left a trail of bastards through the civilized realms, maybe even the lesser ones like Johtunheimr and Midgard. It had been thoughtless of her to refer to what must be a painful for the Queen.

Frigga turned back, her composure regained. “Yes, that is wise. And do not think that you must of needs be alone when he travels. As long as you are discreet, you need not be lonely.” 

Was the Queen saying that she had taken lovers? If so she had been more than discreet for Sigyn had never heard a word of it in court. For herself, she could not imagine another touching her. She had only ever wanted Loki, and to him she would be faithful unto death.

Perhaps sensing what Sigyn was feeling, Frigga said, “You are in the first throes of love. You cannot imagine such desires, but the nights can be very long and very cold in Asgard when the warriors are away. 

“But now, let us speak of the immediate. I have told Loki that you may marry in a month’s time. He chaffed at the delay, but it is the very earliest that a royal wedding can be arranged. We must have your wedding gown made, and new armor for Loki. Your mother will be sent for, and dignitaries from the nine realms invited.”

“And the All-Father?” asked Sigyn. “He has given his blessing?”

Frigga smiled, “He will. I will speak to him when he joins me here for his evening walk. He will be well pleased. He thought very highly of your father. Then we will announce your betrothal at dinner in the Great Hall. I must warn you, there are some who…will be very surprised at the news. Do not let it bother you. Those whom Loki loves, he loves completely. He has never asked to marry any other. But remember, when he is hurt, his love can become hate, and you may have need to love him through that as well.” 

“And there is my husband now. Do not feel you need to rush away. The garden can be very pleasant, can it not?” There was a twinkle in Frigga’s eye as she said this, and Sigyn realized that they had come even with the wall where Loki had proposed the day before. She blushed, but the Queen had already started down the path towards the All-Father.

***

(One hour earlier)

Loki entered his mother’s rooms. He did not knock or announce himself. She always knew he was coming. For awhile he simply watched her embroider. He had always loved that there could be silence between them, without the noise and chaos of Thor and Odin. 

At last she slipped a needle into the cloth to hold it and lifted her head to look at him. “Yes, my son?”

He sat down by her feet where he had always sat as a child. “Mother, I wish to marry.”

“In general, or someone specific?” She knew about both of her son’s bedroom exploits. The court of Asgard was small. It had troubled her that Loki chose women who were older. And married. She knew, even if he did not, that in part it was because he feared he would lose in a competition with Thor, yet again. 

And what did age matter really, to the Aesir? Once one reached maturity there was little difference between one hundred years and one thousand. But none of the women he had been with were women he could marry—not without starting a war. 

Loki smiled, “Someone specific. Lady Sigyn Sigardsdaughter.”

Now, that was a surprise. She had never heard anyone’s name connected with Lady Sigyn’s. Sigyn was quiet and scholarly. Beautiful and intelligent, if a little aloof and odd. But then, so was Loki. But perhaps…

“Lady Sigyn? That is sudden. I did not know that you were courting her.”

“I have loved her from afar. It feels as if I have loved her all of my life. I don’t know why. But she feels the same, I know it.”

Frigga smiled, “Perhaps I do know why. You and she shared a cradle once.”

“WHAT?” He looked genuinely aghast, as if she was suggesting that he was committing incest. That was not possible, of course, but he could not know that. 

“Just for a day, my love. When her father was dying. Her mother was so disconsolate that she could not care for Sigyn for a time. We lay her with you until we could find a suitable nurse. You were such a fussy baby. You hated so to be alone, and Thor was not of an age to be of comfort. And yet, for the day she was with you, you were at peace.” She gazed into the distance, lost for the moment in memory. “Perhaps there, in the language of babies, you joined your souls.”

Loki looked thoughtful. “It is a romantic thought, Mother. I will have to tell her.”

“I take it you have spoken to her already?”

He laughed, “Of course, Mother. And I have not bewitched her in any way.” Then serious, “Will Father approve? I want to be married right away.”

“Of course he will! He valued her father greatly as a warrior, though he probably does not remember her at all. He is like that. Never fear, I will convince him. And you will be married within the month.”

“No, no! A month is too long. Say less than a week, and we shall announce the betrothal tonight.”

“Loki, a royal wedding cannot be arranged in a week. We will barely have time to prepare in a month.”

“Augghh, Mother.” He leapt to his feet to pace the room. “What care I for such things? What can it matter? I am not Thor, not the Crown Prince. It need not be a grand affair. If it would not hurt you, I would elope with her tonight.”

“Loki, you are still a prince of Asgard. It would be shocking for you not to have a grand wedding. For one thing, her mother must be notified and given time to return from Vanheimr. To marry her in haste and secrecy would be an insult to her distinguished line from both the Aesir and Vanir. You do not want your marriage to be tainted by suspicion.

“And anyway, what hardship can there be? If she is still a maid, I cannot think that you will leave her one much longer. You will escort her to dinner, be with her as much as you like. You can plan your marriage suite. It will give you time to learn one another as adults. Be content, Loki. Be happy.”

She paused, “Loki, I would speak to her. I will send for her now. Do not seek her out until I have seen her and spoken to your father. And at dinner she will sit in her usual place and you in yours until Odin makes the announcement. Do this for your mother.”

She saw the defiance leave his shoulders. “Alright, Mother. For you I will wait, although I cannot promise that I will be content.” He kissed her cheek. “And I will leave father to your capable hands.”

She picked up her embroidery hoop again as he turned to go, but before he reached the door, she added, “Loki, we have not spoken of such things, you are a grown man after all, but you might warn her that due to your…various indiscretions, she may face some hostility.”

He nodded, “I had not thought of that, Mother. I will see that it does not touch her.”


End file.
